


A Japanese Boy’s Guide to English Boarding School

by darkdropout



Series: A Japanese Boy’s Guide to... [1]
Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - British, Angst, British English, Bullying, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-07 12:07:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3173336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkdropout/pseuds/darkdropout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>England, 1923. Both condemned to life at an English boarding school, two Japanese schoolboys are quite happy just to have found someone else with whom they can speak in Japanese.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Japanese Boy’s Guide to English Boarding School

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Besides the above mentioned bullying and mild physical violence, please be prepared for obnoxiously britspeak!Nino and a general butchering of the English vernacular circa Her Majesty’s 1920s Britannia. This is a historical AU with very many liberties taken in the favor of drama and romance. Also, very sadly I must admit that this fic includes only Ohno and Nino and no other members of Arashi.
> 
> Originally inspired **[by](http://i1005.photobucket.com/albums/af172/bringthewater/tumblr_n6mtaei2W41rdspk0o3_500_zpsc97e3189.jpg) [these](http://i1005.photobucket.com/albums/af172/bringthewater/tumblr_n6mtaei2W41rdspk0o4_500_zps63d242a9.jpg) [outfits](http://i1005.photobucket.com/albums/af172/bringthewater/tumblr_n6q0b934rU1rdspk0o5_500_zps106e0e3a.jpg)**. Also heavily influenced by such revered texts as _Brideshead Revisited_ and  
>  _From the Mixed-up Files of Aiba Masaki, (Amateur) Detective,_ as well as byBritish school boys as a community/cliche/way of life. This piece of fiction is dedicated to Tom Hiddleston, (PROBABLY) the greatest House Captain that Eton College has ever seen.
> 
>  
> 
> All French text written and produced by [muffinsome](http://archiveofourown.org/users/muffinsome/pseuds/muffinsome), without whom this story would most certainly not have been possible. <3 <3 <3 <3

******

  
ENGLAND, 1923   


"I detest cricket."

Ohno looks up from his sketchbook. The library is mostly empty this time of day, which is why Ohno has taken to hiding away here between lessons, tucked up into a back staircase between the first level and the main balcony. It's the only staircase with a window to the outside and he's found that if he comes here in the late morning between lessons, no one disturbs him. In fact, no one has ever even passed by him on the stairs.

Only here is Ninomiya Kazunari, not only passing him on the stairs, but stopping to speak to him. And after his exclamation (which is most certainly directed at Ohno as there is no one else around), he quite presumptuously sits down beside him on the stone step.

Ohno blinks at him.

"What an utter bore," Nino continues and Ohno can only presume he's still speaking about cricket. "This is exactly why I _implored_ my father to send me to America. One simply cannot get used to such an abomination being called a game when one knows the existence of that most glorious national sport – baseball."

Nino's English accent is impressive, Ohno thinks. Far better than his own, which even after five years of the finest British schooling, continues to receive marks on his Order Card of either "abysmal" or "hopeless" by his English Division Master.

Ohno is still only staring and Ninomiya stops his rantings for a moment to look at him directly, his mouth tugged into an amused smirk. When he speaks again, it's in Japanese. "Pretty good, huh?

"Sorry?" says Ohno, startled by the abrupt language switch – when is the last time he heard anyone speak Japanese, besides himself when he is speaking it alone in his room?

"That 'one simply' stuff," says Ninomiya proudly. "I sound just like them, don't I?"

"I guess so," Ohno replies, not sure what to make of this boy who has so abruptly entered his staircase and his life. He wonders faintly if Ninomiya intends to leave him in peace any time soon – he's only half-finished with his sketch after all and afternoon lessons will certainly be starting soon.

Ninomiya looks pleased enough by Ohno's response. He settles back, elbows resting against the step behind him, making himself more comfortable. Dejectedly, Ohno takes this as a sign that he is planning on staying here for a while.

"I've been practicing it all week," Ninomiya muses, then switching back to English he says, " _What's the point of learning all this bloody English grammar unless it can be put to use in arguments about sport?_ "

He smiles again and this time there's a childlike glow to it. If Ohno didn't know better, he would certainly mistake him for one of those fresh-faced 13 year-olds – especially in his short trousers and high socks, a dress style most 16 year-olds would quickly shed. But Ohno does know better, and he recognizes Ninomiya as member of this term's new lot of Sixth Form Entrants. Frankly, Ohno is not one to take notice of new students, or even old students for that matter, but the fact that Ninomiya is another Japanese import like Ohno himself was bound to catch even Ohno's flighty attention.

Ohno is so busy considering this – along with Ninomiya’s skinny unclothed knees – that he doesn't notice Ninomiya has taken an interest in his still open sketchbook until it's too late.

"What's that?" Ninomiya asks, pointing to Ohno's unfinished drawing with a stubby finger.

"Nothing really," says Ohno with a shrug. "Just a scribble."

Ninomiya tilts his head a little, then without warning, leans alarming far into Ohno's personal space to better study the page. He's near enough that Ohno's nose suddenly fills with the lavender scent of what must be Ninomiya's shampoo. Ohno pulls back instinctively, but Ninomiya doesn't seem to notice.

"I like it very much," Ninomiya says after a moment. He moves back again and Ohno feels a bit relieved.

"Thank you," he says politely, not sure what else he could say.

Ninomiya tilts his head again, but this time he’s studying Ohno. "You're from Tokyo, aren't you?" he asks.

Ohno nods.

Nino smiles eagerly. "Me too! Say, is it really just the two of us here?"

“I suppose so,” Ohno says.

Nino gives a musing hum. "Sakurai transferred out quite unexpectedly, didn't he? You were very close with him. Was it because of the dissolving of the Anglo-Japanese Alliance? His father was a diplomat, was he not?"

"How do you – ?" Ohno starts, taken aback.

"Know so much about you?" Ninomiya finishes his question for him and grins again. "I asked around, of course. Most of the Sixth-formers don't think very highly of you, you know. You really should try to engage with your fellow students more."

"My English isn't good enough," Ohno says, defaulting to the usual excuse in face of a criticism he has become all too familiar with – from tutors, house masters, parents, and apparently everyone he meets.

"Well your Japanese isn't anything to brag about either."

Ohno feels a sudden flair of annoyance prickle up his spine. After all, who is this boy to interrupt Ohno's so coveted solitude, only to disparage his language skills and nosily pry into his personal details? In Japan, Ninomiya would certainly be his junior and here he is still far below him in the school hierarchy. Ninomiya should be treating him with respect.

His change in mood must show on his face.

"Don't get in a huff about it, old man," Ninomiya says quickly, and though he does his best to sound unapologetic, Ohno is sure that his dark eyes have acquired a sheen of anxiousness. "I was only pointing it out because it's true. At the moment, I'm glad for the chance to hear _any_ Japanese at all. It's been _weeks_ since I arrived here and I'm sick to death of the sound of my own voice."

Ohno softens at that. There's something about Ninomiya – less to do with his forward approach and perhaps more to do with his smile – that Ohno feels compelled by despite himself.

"I'll speak Japanese with you," he concedes, then adds with his best put-on air of superiority, "As your my junior and all."

Ninomiya looks relieved. " _Senpai_ " he responds happily, giving a dutiful bow of his head, his grin is so large now that it shows the pink of his gums.

Ohno can't help but grin back and the stretch of his mouth feels tight and unfamiliar, it having been such a long time since he's last smiled. He decides that he doesn't mind this Ninomiya boy so much after all.

Somewhere on campus, the afternoon warning bell tolls once.

Ninomiya jumps from his seat. "We'll be late!" he says, all his previous coolness quickly dissolved into panic. He may be a Sixth-former, Ohno reminds himself, but he is also a new student who still cares about things like punctuality.

It's refreshing.

"Don't worry," Ohno assures him, calmly closing his sketchbook and collecting his pencil set. "I'll show you a short-cut."

***

The next day, Ohno arrives at his staircase hideaway to find Ninomiya already waiting for him.

"Hello," Ninomiya says, his Japanese as informal as it is exhilarating to hear. He holds up a small glass jar for Ohno to see. "My mum sent me here with a lifetime supply of umeboshi. Would you like some?"

He scoots over, an invitation for Ohno to take a seat on the stair beside him. Ohno has half a mind to scold him for being so cavalier in invading Ohno's hard-won private sanctuary.

On the other hand, he hasn't had umeboshi in years.

"Thank you," says Ohno, sitting down. Ninomiya holds out the jar and Ohno sticks his fingers in, fishing out one of the umeboshi and popping it straight into his mouth.

"Pickled plums," Ninomiya says aloud in English, then pulls a face. "I don't know why they even bother to translate these things. It sounds horrid in English. Completely unappetizing."

Ohno relaxes on to the step behind him, eyes falling closed appreciatively as the familiarly sour tang fills his mouth. Suddenly he's back in his mother's too-hot kitchen, with a plate of homemade onigiri sitting on the counter – the one that, throughout his childhood, always seemed to replenish itself by magic whenever he left the room.

"Would you like another?" Ninomiya's voice cuts through his reminiscence. He opens his eyes to find the boy staring at him, mouth turned up again in the tiniest of smiles.

Ohno takes another. "Why are you here again?" he asks as he chews.

Ninomiya doesn't answer – surprising for someone who has been so talkative until now. He replaces the lid to his jar and stands up.

"I apologize," he says, and his voice is oddly brittle now. He does not look in Ohno's direction. “I shouldn't have presumed. I’ll take my leave – "

He makes to step down the staircase when Ohno finds himself reaching out to stop him.

"You needn't," Ohno says. "Sit down."

For a moment, Ninomiya looks conflicted. Then he smiles kittenishly and sits down again, holding out the jar.

"Take as many as you like," he says. "I've an entire crate full."

***

It becomes a sort of routine. Ohno still goes to his staircase every day and now Ninomiya is always there waiting for him.

Ninomiya talks a great deal, but he doesn't appear to mind that Ohno does not. He seems able to tell that Ohno is listening to him and find that satisfactory enough. Ohno spends most of his time there drawing, just as he used to before Ninomiya's arrival, and Ninomiya is perfectly happy to watch him at work, often leaning in for a better look over Ohno's shoulder in an invasion of personal space which Ohno soon grows used to.

Even so, Ohno does make an effort to speak more than he otherwise would, if only for the chance to be able to converse in Japanese.

To begin with, Ohno assumes that Ninomiya has sought out his company with the same motivations. They are the only two Japanese students, stuck on another island – the wrong island, on the far side of the world from their own. It's understandable that Ninomiya, despite the almost perfect English he often peppers their conversations with, would want someone to speak to in his native tongue.

But it's not just that. Ninomiya is lonely, Ohno realizes, although he doesn't seem the type to ever admit it. He rarely talks about his interaction with other students besides those that take place on the cricket field (all protests aside, Ohno learns that Ninomiya is an active member of his house cricket team), and after a few weeks of these meetings between the two of them, Ohno is almost sure that Ninomiya hasn't any real friends.

"Has the bullying started?" Ohno asks him one day when there is a pause in the conversation.

He says it casually, off-handedly, not even bothering to look up from his sketchbook where he's coloring in the background of another one of what Ninomiya has taken to calling his "charmingly peculiar landscapes."

Ninomiya is obviously startled. "I – What have you – No, certainly not," he stutters out.

Ohno glances up from his drawing and gives Ninomiya a sympathetic smile. "It won't last forever," he says simply.

Ninomiya swallows once visibly. He nods his head.

Ohno goes back to his coloring, and when Ninomiya scoots closer to him, overwhelming him once again with the scent of his lavender shampoo, Ohno assumes, like he always does, that it's only to get a better look at his drawing.

***

A few days later, Ninomiya arrives at the staircase with a distinctive black eye.

He hastily takes a seat next to Ohno on their usual step.

"So sorry I'm late," he says, apologizing although there isn't really a need to – after all, Ohno has never expected him to come in the first place.

Ohno frowns. "Your eye," he says.

Instinctively, he reaches up to press his fingertips gently to the swollen skin. Ninomiya hisses and bats his hand away.

"It's ghastly, I know," he sighs. "I meant to cover it up, but I couldn't think how to do it."

Ohno's frown deepens. "Have you been to the infirmary?”

"There's no need," Ninomiya says, flippantly.

"Who was it?" asks Ohno with ill-suppressed curiosity.

Nino’s eyes widen. "Pardon?"

"Who did it to you?" Ohno repeats. He reaches out again, but Ninomiya flinches away and Ohno's fingers land on his cheek instead.

"No one," says Ninomiya, unevenly. "You won't believe it, but I was in such a rush this morning, I walked right into the bloody wardrobe."

Ohno presses his fingers against Ninomiya's cheek, his heart heavy in his chest. "I don't believe you."

Ninomiya laughs, but it sounds strained and a little hollow. "Believe what you like, old chap," he says in English – English that is jarring to Ohno's ears.

Ninomiya never speaks English with him, unless he's trying to make a point.

Ohno pulls his hand away and Ninomiya lets out an unsteady breath before quite pointedly changing the subject.

"Say, I've been meaning to ask you – what pray tell, is the appeal of these blasted cucumber sandwiches? Do they serve them at tea in your house or is it just me who has to suffer?"

"We've got them," Ohno replies. "I just eat out the cucumbers."

Nino brightens, eyes lit up with a sudden twinkling. "Ah, then I'll have to ask you over to take tea at ours sometime so we can share. I only eat the bread!"

***

On Saturday, Ohno on his way back to his house after a morning of sketching in solitude by the riverside. Although he'd been pleased with the results of his session there, he'd had to admit that it had been a bit lonely without Ninomiya's company. It takes Ohno a while to categorize the feeling – loneliness. While he may have been able to recognize it quickly in Ninomiya, he's long stopped using it to describe himself. Lonely, no – only if loneliness is that comfortable numbness he's taken to carrying around with him day to day.

But today, it hadn't been that. It had been a real dose of loneliness, or at least the feeling of a noticeable lack – a lack of Ninomiya.

Even as Ohno thinks Ninomiya's name, he passes by the cricket field. There’s a game there well into play. And in the middle of the field, bat in hand, expression serious, stands the very boy in question.

Ohno stops to watch as the ball comes flying towards the batter. Ninomiya's bat connects easily and the satisfying crack of wood against leather sets off a commotion across the field, players taking off in every and (what to Ohno looks like) no logical direction. Ohno has absolutely no understanding of it, so instead he settles on watching Ninomiya's face as he runs – his serious expression from a moment before has dissolved into childish glee as he runs back and forth, once then twice, between the wicket ends.

Finally, the ball comes back towards the center and Ninomiya is out. This must signal the end of play because immediately and without announcement, the players of both sides begin to stream towards the sideline as one disorganized group.

Ninomiya trails behind them a little, bat still in hand, and it’s only then that he catches sight of Ohno, still watching from the edge of the field. He blinks in surprise, but soon he is grinning widely. He waves enthusiastically in Ohno's direction before jogging towards him.

"Did you see that?" Ninomiya trills, arriving breathless at Ohno's side. He looks younger than ever today in his white v-necked jumper and matching white trousers.

"I saw," Ohno says, realizing with only a little surprise that he’s no longer thrown by Nino’s close-up exuberance. "Did you win?"

Ninomiya laughs happily, eyes sparkling and cheeks bright with exertion. "No, it was only a notch. We'll break until tomorrow. You really don't know much about cricket, do you?"

Ohno shrugs. "I think I'll stick to croquet."

" _Croquet_?" Ninomiya crows. " _You?_ Oh, you've got to tell me when you next play. I must see this! Do you have your own mallet and everything?"

"I borrow," Ohno replies. He collects his notebook up under his arm and prepares to keep moving. "Good game. I'll be leaving first – "

Before he can take a step, he feels himself being tugged back. Ninomiya has got him by the sleeve.

"Wait," he says. "You'll come to tea today, won’t you? I'm sure our dame, _Mrs. Morrison-Jones_ , would be happy to accommodate you."

Ohno doesn't really feel like taking tea anywhere today – normally he never takes tea at all, even at his own house. But Ninomiya is looking at him so imploringly, his fingers gripped so tightly into Ohno's jacket, that Ohno can't find it in himself to refuse.

"If you insist," he says meekly and there's that smile of Ninomiya's again, so large that it threatens to split his face right in two.

"Brilliant! Let me just grab the rest of my kit and we'll go round."

*

When they enter into Ninomiya's commons room, it is already seething with loud and rambunctious boys. Ohno hesitates in the doorway, fighting the urge to turn on his heels and flee. Suddenly he remembers why he has been avoiding tea time for so many years.

Ninomiya pushes through the crowd confidentially, headed straight for the tea service, and Ohno decides he has no choice but to follow nervously behind him. It's strange to be in another house, especially when Ohno so conscientiously avoids spending time in his own. He feels conspicuous here, sure that every boy is turned toward him with suspicion – and he's not entirely imagining it. As they past a group of upperclassmen congregated by one of the room’s several large bay windows, the boys stop in their conversation to silently stare.

Ninomiya at least seems to take no notice of this. He comes to a stop by the tea table, then reaches out to grab Ohno by the elbow and pull him forward.

"You're my guest so I'll serve you. How do you take it?" he says and it's a moment before it registers to Ohno that Ninomiya's speaking to him in English.

"Sugar," Ohno replies, also in English.

As Ninomiya pours the tea, Ohno waits awkwardly at his side. Eventually, his attention is drawn to the boys standing at the other end of the tea table, near the rest of the refreshments. He can only half hear them over the din of the room, but he’s almost certain they are conversing in French. Curiosity winning out over his uneasiness, he dares to lean the tiniest bit closer, listening in.

"Non, non, c'est impossible!” emotes an infinitely tall, blonde-haired and apple-cheeked boy. “Je leur avais dis de ne pas mettre de paprika. De la canelle, oui certainement. De la muscade, pourquoi pas. Mais du paprika, c'est complétement insensé!"

When Ninomiya holds the cup and saucer out to him, Ohno is smiling to himself, his earlier anxiety having been thoroughly replaced by amusement.

Ninomiya raises an eyebrow. “What is it?” he asks. He looks past Ohno to the blonde boy and his mouth quirks up in understanding.

“Good afternoon, Tom,” Ninomiya calls out.

The boy turns in their direction, then gives a jovial grin. “Ninomiya! What a pleasure to see you! How was your match? Have you once again upheld our house’s good name?”

“You have my sincere assurance that I have,” Ninomiya answers. He gestures in Ohno’s direction. “May I introduce to you my friend, Satoshi Ohno. He was kind enough to watch me play today so I felt inclined to invite him to tea.”

Tom looks at Ohno with unveiled delight, shaking Ohno’s hand enthusiastically. “Well of course you were right to do so. A pleasure to meet you, my good fellow! I assume, Ninomiya, that this is the friend you’ve spoken so highly of to me on several occasions this term. Please call me Tom. I’m but the humble captain of this fine house. Welcome, welcome! Have a biscuit!”

He picks up a tray from the table and offers it, but Ohno hesitates.

“Is there paprika?” he asks.

“Oh my,” says Tom. “No, no, an unrelated crisis I assure you. Completely different biscuits were the unfortunate victims. But your French is quite good, isn’t it?”

Ohno nods his head sheepishly and beside him Ninomiya’s cup clangs sharply against its saucer, his jaw dropped in disbelief.

“Blast!" Ninomiya curses, brushing uselessly at the splotch of tea that’s splattered itself across the front of his white jumper.

“Good heavens!” Tom exclaims. “Ninomiya, you should give that to Mrs. Morrison-Jones right away or else it will certainly leave a stain. Go on, off with you! I’m sure your friend would be more than happy to save your tea cup for you while you’re gone, n'est-ce pas, Ohno?”

Ohno opens his mouth to reply, but Ninomiya has already got him by the elbow again.

“No need,” he says, and Ohno nearly spills his own tea as Ninomiya abruptly takes it from his hands and sets it down on the table beside his own. “I’ll take him with me. Good to see you, Tom.”

He starts to pull Ohno towards the door and Ohno only just has time to grab a hand full of biscuits as he’s dragged off.

“Good afternoon gentlemen!” Tom calls after them, waving brightly. “Always a pleasure!”

*

Ninomiya’s room is not significantly different to Ohno’s own, small and to the point – a bed against one wall and a wooden desk against the other, a small window looking out on nowhere in particular. It’s only when Ohno steps further into the room that he notices one striking peculiarity – in the middle of the floor, between the bed and the desk, lies Ninomiya’s mattress.

Ninomiya looks a bit embarrassed. “The beds here are absolutely impossible to grow used to, don’t you find?”

Ohno continues to stare at the mattress thoughtfully. Then, without any invitation, he throws himself down onto it.

Ninomiya has his back turned now, his jumper halfway over his head, and the sound of Ohno hitting the mattress seems to surprise him enough to make him startle. He quickly removes himself from the rest of the jumper and glances over his shoulder to find Ohno lying comfortably in his bed.

He looks, Ohno decides with amusement, quite scandalized by it.

Ohno grins, sitting up and holding out his handful of pilfered refreshments. “Would you like a biscuit?” he asks, politely.

Ninomiya relaxes at that, and he steps forward enough to kick at the bottom of Ohno’s shoe. “At lease be so kind as to remove your shoes before you loll around on my belongings. I know you’ve been led astray by these heathens, but let me take this chance to re-domesticate you.”

Pushing Ohno’s legs off the side to make room, he sits down cross-legged on the end of the mattress. Then he reaches out and chooses a biscuit from Ohno’s still offered collection.

“ _Merci beaucoup_ ,” he says, in unexpectedly atrocious French.

Ohno laughs delightedly. “Your speak French bad.”

“It’s _badly_ , you absolute plebeian!” Ninomiya huffs. “I speak French _badly_.”

Ohno smirks. “You speak French badly, Ninomiya-kun,” he repeats with mock dutifulness.

Ninomiya looks like he’s about to throw his biscuit in Ohno’s face, but he’s smiling so widely now that Ohno feels absolutely no threat.

His instinct is correct. Ninomiya does not throw the biscuit, bringing it to his mouth to take a bite instead.

“It's just Nino,” he says around a crunchy mouthful. “We’re friends, aren’t we? I’d like to think so now that I find you lounging in my bed. So don’t be so formal.”

“Nino,” Ohno repeats, just as obediently as before and Ninomiya gives an approving nod.

He waits patiently while Ninomiya finishes his biscuit. When he tries to take another, Ohno stops him, covering Ninomiya’s reaching hand with his own.

“Nino,” he says, and if Ninomiya looks a little distressed, it only makes what Ohno says next all the better. “Ton français est terrible.”

Despite his foolproof plan, Ohno still gets hit in the face by a biscuit – when Ninomiya tackles him to the mattress and his handful of them goes flying into the air.

***

Saturday tea at Nino’s house is added to their routine without hesitation and Ohno begins to meet Nino at the end of cricket every week. Each time he arrives a little earlier, catching more and more of the game, until he loses all pretense and begins to spend the entire match sitting on the sidelines, watching Nino play.

Nino, for one, seems thrilled with the attention. No matter what time Ohno appears, Nino seems immediately aware of it, glancing in Ohno’s direction at every break in play and practically tumbling off the field toward him like an eager puppy when the match breaks for the day.

At tea, the two of them have collaboratively perfected the art of the hit and run – Ohno proves to be quite adept at hiding two full tea cups underneath his jacket – and with their stolen goods they sneak away to Nino’s room to spend the afternoon leisurely eating far more than their share of biscuits and carefully dissecting cucumber sandwiches.

Ohno finds himself falling easily into the regularity, though he isn’t entirely sure what to make of it all. It's strange that after all this time left – through both taste and circumstance – to his own devices, he finds himself attached to someone so un-shamefully delighted to spend time with him.

But it feels natural to be in Nino’s company. And while he can’t always understand Nino, while there are times when he finds Nino looking at him and cannot begin to guess what he’s thinking, for the most part they seem to be a pair cut of the same cloth. Maybe that’s why Ohno has been so easily pulled into Nino’s orbit.

Or maybe it’s that Nino looks so thankful each time Ohno shows up at the cricket field again, each time Ohno is still waiting for him on the stairs – as if he’s been afraid to get his hopes up, afraid to expect it, even after all these weeks.

Maybe it's that Ohno can’t quite bear the thought of letting Nino down.

So he doesn’t.

Besides, it’s been a long time since Ohno has had a friend.

***

Then one Saturday, Ohno arrives at the cricket field to find that Nino isn’t there. He doesn’t dare approach any of the other players, and none of them seem interested in relaying to him any information.

Not sure what else to do, Ohno goes to tea early. The commons room is empty except for a few boys and Tom rearranging furniture to make room for the refreshments to come.

“Ohno!” Tom calls out to him. “I was hoping you’d stop by. Ninomiya seems to be doing quite poorly since this morning and I wondered if you wouldn’t go and peek in on him. I’d do it myself, but I thought he might feel more comfortable having you instead.”

Ohno arrives at Nino’s room a few minutes later, pockets full of the biscuits that Tom has insisted he take with him. He knocks at the door. There’s a scuffling sound from the room within.

“Who is it?” Nino calls meekly.

“It’s me,” replies Ohno, feeling suddenly anxious.

There’s more sounds of movement and then the door creaks open to reveal Nino in his shirt-sleeves and favorite short trousers. His high socks are pooled sadly around his ankles.

“Oh-chan, I wasn’t expecting you,” he says.

Ohno reaches into his pocket and pulls out a butter biscuit – Nino’s favorite. “You weren’t at cricket today so I came to find you.”

Nino doesn’t reach for the biscuit. “I’m fine,” Nino says. “Just under the weather, as they say – whatever that means.”

“Oh,” says Ohno. He keeps holding out the biscuit, despite the fact that Nino clearly has no interest in it.

“I'm fine," Nino repeats. He gives a forced smile. "I’ll see you on Monday?”

“Sure,” Ohno says.

Nino nods. Then without another word, he closes the door.

Ohno puts the biscuit back into his pocket, suddenly feeling a little under the weather himself.

Even in the darkened doorway, he is sure he could not have been imagining the bruises on Nino’s face.

***

On Monday, Ohno waits on the staircase, but Nino never comes.

By Wednesday, when Nino has still not revealed himself, Ohno does something he hasn’t done since he was thirteen. He skips his afternoon lessons.

Nino’s house is mostly empty this time of day, and the few other students Ohno passes on his way to Nino’s room don’t pay him any attention.

He knocks on Nino’s door and waits. When nothing happens, he knocks again more loudly.

The door opens. Nino stands on the threshold, looking sleep-mussed and disoriented as he blinks against the light of the hallway. The bruises on his face seem to have gotten darker over the past few days, blue-black against the paleness of his skin. Although it’s well past noon, he’s still in his red and white striped pajamas.

He gives Ohno a groggy smile. “Shouldn’t you be in your lessons?”

“Shouldn’t you?” Ohno replies.

Nino doesn’t answer, but he opens the door enough to let Ohno enter. His room looks the same as always. His mattress is still on the floor, only today it isn’t as neatly made as it usually is, the sheets thrown asunder as if Nino has been in it until only moments ago. The desk is still well organized, although Ohno suspects that the books and papers resting there have remained untouched for the past few days. As he moves further into the room, a small ripped piece of paper sitting in the middle of the desk catches his attention.

“What happened to your baseball card?” Ohno asks, moving closer to gingerly pick up one half of what he recognizes as Nino’s coveted Ono Michimaro card. Nino had been proudly showing it off to him only a week ago (“ _Really, Oh-chan,_ ” Nino had gasped dramatically when Ohno had viewed the card without recognition. “How can you call yourself a Japanese if you’ve not even the slightest clue about our national hero?” Ohno remembers the incident so distinctly because it had also been the first time Nino had addressed him by this recently preferred nickname.)

Nino grimaces, crossing the room to take the severed half from Ohno’s hand. “A sacrilege. You haven’t access to any paste, have you?” he asks.

“I have some in my room,” Ohno replies, thinking of the artist’s kit sitting in the back of his closet.

Nino brightens. “You have? Then I’ll leave Ono-san in Oh-chan’s most capable hands.” He switches to an unsurprisingly good but no less impressive American accent. “He’ll be back to giving those flat tires the old razzle dazzle in no time, ya see!”

He collects up both the pieces, wrapping them carefully in a clean handkerchief before handing them to Ohno with a bow of his head. Ohno is about to put the handkerchief into his pocket when he realizes that it is still full of biscuits.

“Is this the same from Saturday?” Nino asks skeptically when Ohno produces the butter biscuit victoriously.

“They don’t spoil,” Ohno insists, then sticking out his bottom lip adds, “And I saved if for you all this time.” He picks a bit of lint off the biscuit’s crunchy exterior, before proffering it in Nino’s direction more forcefully.

Nino looks both touched and disgusted, but he takes it.

Satisfied enough with this conclusion, Ohno moves on. “What happened?” he asks, gesturing unsubtly to Nino’s face.

Nino puts the biscuit down on the desk, clearly having no intention to eat it. Then he settles himself in the cocooned nest of sheets on his mattress. He does not invite Ohno to sit beside him, but then they have long since established that Ohno needs no invitation for that.

“I’d rather not speak about it, if you don’t mind terribly,” says Nino. His tone is nonchalant, but his eyes dart around the room, looking anywhere but at Ohno.

Ohno doesn’t push the subject. There’s no reason that he should, nothing he can do about it whether Nino tells him or not. Even so, it makes his heart ache a little to see the state of Nino’s face, to imagine, to _understand_ , the pain that must have accompanied the making of marks like that.

“Then you won’t,” Ohno says.

It’s not much of an assurance, not really an assurance at all, but Nino seems comforted enough by it. He gives a heavy sigh, then leans gently in Ohno’s direction, tilting his head so that his lavender-scented hair brushes against Ohno’s shoulder.

When that doesn’t cause Ohno to pull back or move away, Nino leans closer still, resting his head more firmly there. He sighs once more, quieter now, as if he doesn’t mean for Ohno to hear him at all.

Ohno’s feels his heart begin to ache again, but this time it’s for an entirely different reason.

"You've been here so much longer than me,” Nino says, not moving from Ohno’s shoulder.

"It's not that long," says Ohno.

Nino snuffles a little under Ohno’s chin, then continues. “I prepared for this. I knew I’d be coming and I got myself ready. I thought if I practiced enough, if I learnt everything I could ahead of time, it wouldn’t be so bad. I read any English book I could get my hands on. Jane Austen, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, even that long-winded Charles Dickens. Byron and Shelley. Shakespeare – “

“You can read Shakespeare?” Ohno interrupts with awed admiration.

Nino gives an amused huff. “Quite. But the fact of the matter is I thought that having done so, I would blend right in on British soil.”

He pauses. “Only I haven’t, have I?”

“No,” Ohno replies softly.

Nino sits up again, pushing a hand through his hair in obvious frustration. “It was naïve of me, I know, but there you have it. And now that I find all my hard work gone to nothing, I’ve no idea how I shall get through the next few years of this.”

“It gets better,” says Ohno.

Nino eyes him skeptical. ”You keep saying that. Does it?”

“Mm,” Ohno hums in confirmation. “I haven’t had a black eye since last Christmas,” he says, with a grin.

“Well _jolly good_ ,” Nino grumbles with a roll of his eyes, but he’s smiling again. “And I don’t suppose you have some sage advice for your junior on how to achieve such promising statistics of his own?”

“None at all,” Ohno says with a sheepish shrug.

“Utterly useless,” Nino groans, flopping his head down on Ohno’s shoulder again and settling in comfortably. “If I’d known this attachment with you would be of so little value to me, I wouldn’t have bothered to track you down.”

“So then I shouldn’t repair your baseball card?” Ohno asks, innocently.

“Of course you should!” Nino snaps. “It’s simply the least you could do after the terrible disappointment you’ve put me through.”

Ohno tilts his head to rest it against Nino’s. “Well if it’s the least I can do,” he agrees.

***

The next morning, Ohno opens the door to his room to find Nino waiting for him on the other side. His bruises are still dark, but he smiles brightly around them.

“Good morning,” he says, holding up a full, unopened jar of umeboshi.

Ohno shifts his schoolbooks from one hand to the other to happily take it from him. “You’re feeling better?”

Nino waves him off unconcernedly. “Yes, yes, so I’ll be a good boy and go to my lessons today – but under one condition. You’ll let me watch you at croquet.”

“No,” says Ohno immediately.

He frowns and for the split of a second Nino frowns too – but he quickly recovers himself, his mouth pulling instead into an absolute pout.

“Why ever not?” he demands, crossly.

“Watching will be boring,” replies Ohno, his answer matter-of-fact.

He hands Nino his pile of books, which Nino takes by reflex before looking down at them accusingly. With both hands now free, Ohno twists open the top of the umeboshi jar. He picks one out from it and pops it into his mouth, chewing blissfully.

Nino is still pouting when Ohno finally swallows, and he's already reaching for another when he says, simply, “I’ll teach you to play instead."

***

“I say, you’re excellent at that!” Nino hoots at Ohno’s ball hops over the ball in front of it before shooting across the lawn and rolling through the farthest hoop with perfect precision.

Ohno shrugs off this praise, as if he hasn't been showing off particularly for Nino’s benefit. “It’s not all that difficult.”

“As you keep saying," Nino sighs dramatically, "but I’ve been in your tutelage for hours already and I haven’t gotten a single goal.”

“They’re points,” Ohno corrects, amused. “And it’s only been twenty minutes. We haven’t even started the match yet.”

Nino groans. “We haven’t?”

Ohno plants his mallet in the grass and leans against it, smirking a little. “You’re the one who wanted to see me play.”

“Well I was sure,” Nino sniffs, “when you suggested to teach me, that I would pick it up immediately and would then beat you quite soundly at your own game.”

“You’re holding the mallet wrong,” Ohno replies dryly.

“And you only tell me that now?!” Nino yaps, affronted. “You’re an awful teacher! Come over here and show me how to hold it then.”

Ohno is laughing, but he takes pity on Nino all the same. He moves forward, close enough to seriously study the grip of Nino’s fingers. It’s only after a few minutes of silence that he realizes Nino, who in the past has proven himself to be rarely quiet, is not speaking a word.

Ohno glances up at him curiously. The look on Nino’s face is hard to understand – it’s as if he’s holding his breath.

“You might do better if you switch to the left-handed fashion,” Ohno says, stepping back again.

Nino wet his lips. “How dare you sir. I am impressively ambidextrous. Everyone says so.”

Ignoring this protest, Ohno forcefully uncurls Nino’s surprisingly compliant fingers from the mallet and switches his grip. “Try it now,” he says.

Nino glowers at him, but he complies with Ohno's request – and taps the ball cleanly for the first time all evening.

“See, much better,” Ohno says smugly.

Nino is clearly annoyed as Ohno steps up to his own ball and readies his swing. He is even more annoyed, verging on livid, when Ohno smacks the ball powerfully into Nino’s and sends it flying across the green in the other direction.

“That’s a foul!” Nino shouts, throwing his mallet down in suspiciously delighted outrage.

Ohno smirks outright this time. “It isn’t.”

“A true gentleman would go easy on me,” Nino grumbles loudly as he trots off into the darkness in search of his ball.

“You’d be just as annoyed if I went easy on you,” Ohno points out proudly.

“Preposterous!” Nino shouts from the distance. “Are you not governed by rules of integrity on your team?”

“I’m not on any team,” Ohno calls after him. “I play by myself.”

Nino’s voice is fainter now – the ball must have gone farther than even Ohno expected it to – but Ohno can still hear him as he asks, “Why ever not? Rejected for rouge play, I assume?”

“No.” Ohno knocks his mallet through the empty grass a few times, back and forth. “I was disinvited,” he replies simply.

It’s quiet for a moment, and Ohno wonders if Nino has wandered off too far to carry on their conversation. But then Nino’s voice cuts through the darkness, closer and no less annoyed – although there’s a different, sharper tinge to it then before.

“Well no wonder you lack any semblance of good sportsmanship,” he says.

Then he calls out triumphantly. “Aha! Found it! Now where is that damned hoop, I can’t see a thing over here.”

It takes Nino several turns to return his ball to its former position – longer, he makes certain to point out, than it might have if Ohno hadn’t been so distractingly and _rudely_ ringing lazy circles around him with his own ball the entire time. Nino has finally arrived back in front of the right hoop, when Ohno decides to knock him away once more.

Nino is holding his breath again, although this time Ohno thinks he can understand why. “Just wait until I _teach_ you cricket,” he hisses threateningly in Ohno’s direction.

Ohno smiles sweetly. “Treat me kindly,” he says and taps his own ball through the final hoop.

*

Nino insists on a rematch and then another and one more only this time with a head start and soon it’s gotten far later into the night that either of them had planned. The chapel bell chimes nine o’clock with what seems to be no warning – but only because they’ve been too engrossed to notice the chime of seven or eight before it.

“Lock up,” Nino curses as the two of them take off running.

When they arrive at Nino’s house, as expected the gate is already locked tight for the night.

“Give me a boost!” Nino says, tossing Ohno his mallet. He strips off his jacket and throws it over the gate ahead of himself, then rolls up his sleeves.

“Ow, you’re pulling my hair!” Ohno yelps as Nino starts to scale both him and the gate in an attempt to get to the top.

Nino puts an ungentle foot on his shoulder and continues to push himself up despite Ohno’s protests. “Then keep your hair away from my fingers and stop threatening to drop me! Go on, use your muscles!”

It takes a few minutes of bickering and precarious wobbling, but soon Nino is up and over, landing lightly on his feet. He dusts off his shirtfront with a self-satisfied smile.

“Your hair is a state,” he says to Ohno happily from the other side.

“You pulled it,” Ohno reminds him with a pout, although he’s not feeling particularly bothered by it, even with Nino’s footprints still fresh on the back of his jacket.

“You left me no choice,” Nino says without apology. He steps forward to curl a hand into the gate. “Now come here and let me fix it or else the entire student body will be teeming with scandalous rumors of you by breakfast. You look like some frightfully small Casanova and it suits you not at all.”

Ohno bends his head obediently and feels Nino’s fingers once again, this time more gently, raking through his hair.

“There that’s much better. My modest Oh-chan,” Nino says with no little affection, hand lingering in Ohno’s hair just a moment longer than his words before he pulls it back.

Ohno lifts his head, feeling a little sorry for the loss of it. Nino has moved away now, busying himself with collecting up his jacket from the ground and slipping it back on. Ohno decides, a little desolately, that it’s time for him to return to his own gate to scale. He picks up the dropped and almost forgotten croquet mallets before turning to leave.

“Oh-chan!” Nino calls out and Ohno stops. Nino is pressed against the gate again, looking after him with the most woeful expression on his face.

Then he smiles.

“Thank you for a lovely evening,” he says. "Even though you’re a terrible cheater."

Ohno smiles back. "The pleasure was all mine," he says, bowing his head politely. "Even though you're such a sore loser.”

***

Nino’s cricket practice ends abruptly with the first snow of the season. Where once Ohno would have assumed a similar end of their Saturday afternoons together, now there is no question that it means nothing more than a change in routine. As the days get colder, they allow themselves to move their arrangement entirely indoors, where they find other ways to entertain themselves.

*

“Ms. Austen?” Nino says in surprise, his hand coming to a stop on the spine of _Pride and Prejudice_ where it sits on Ohno’s bookcase. With his other hand, he continues to clack his kendama skillfully, ball into cup, one side then the other without missing a beat.

He turns to give Ohno a quizzical look. “You’ve read it?”

“Of course,” replies Ohno.

Nino’s eyes narrow skeptically. “Is it not –“ His kendama clacks loudly to accentuate his question. “ – a little above your reading level?”

Ohno shrugs. “I get the gist of it.”

“So romantic,” Nino hums, turning back to the shelf. “You hadn't struck me as the romantic type.”

Nino is teasing him of course, but his voice is oddly soft now. He drops his arm, the ball of his kendama hanging motionless in air for the first time all afternoon.

“I like the action scenes,” Ohno offers, hoping that Nino will laugh. The longer they’ve been acquainted, the more Nino’s abrupt moments of quietness have begun to make Ohno nervous. He finds himself consciously trying to break Nino from them, in whatever way he can.

Nino does laugh. “The action scenes? In Jane Austen?” he replies accusingly, all his quietness now gone.

“Yes,” Ohno insists, pleased with his success as Nino’s kendama swings back to life.

“Hm,” says Nino. He continues his perusal of the small shelf, before he stops again a few books down. “You’ve got _Sense and Sensibility_ too. In English and in _French_?”

Ohno gives him a demure smile. “It’s my favorite.”

Nino rolls his eyes. “You haven’t a single Japanese book, have you?”

Ohno ponders a moment. “I think I have a few old copies of Shōnen Sekai.”

“Shōnen Sekai? How old are you really? That thing’s been out of publication for nearly a decade! No wonder your Japanese is so shameful.”

Nino finishes with the shelf and moves back to where Ohno has been watching him from his desk. “You haven’t made any effort to keep up with it. I’ll lend you something more modern, shall I?”

He sits down on the edge of Ohno’s bed and places the kendama beside him, apparently tired of it. “Have you been back at all since you attended here? To Japan, I mean.”

Ohno turns around in his seat so that they are facing each other. “I haven’t," he says, folding his arms on the back of his chair and resting his chin there.

“But you’re in your fifth. Not at all in so many years?” Nino asks, and there’s a tinge of desperation to the question.

“It’s a long trip."

Nino’s brow furrows. “Yes, but – “

“You’re homesick,” Ohno says, and it’s not a question.

Nino prickles a bit at that. “I’m not. I just –“ He pauses, then sighs heavily. “I’m despairing for some rice. _Proper_ rice. Sometimes I’ll lie awake most of a night, craving for it.”

Ohno is sure that this just another one of Nino’s now familiar attempts to cleverly change the subject, and he indulges it. “Your mother didn’t pack you any?”

“No, she did not. And I’ve written for her to send some, but I’m sure it’ll be summer before it gets here. I’ll have died of the lack before then!”

Ohno shakes his head knowingly. “You won’t.”

“How can you possibly be so sure?” Nino whines.

“Every time you crave it, come find me and I’ll take your mind off it," Ohno says decidedly.

Nino raises an incredulous eyebrow. “And how, may I ask, will you accomplish that exactly?”

“I’ll read to you from _Raison et Sensibilité_ of course,” Ohno says, with a complete seriousness that is only slightly ruined by the way he goes cross-eyed trying to keep in his laughter.

Nino blinks at him in disbelief.

“I think,” he says finally – and then he’s lying back on Ohno’s bed and throwing an arm over his face theatrically, “I can feel it coming on right now.”

“I’ll get the book,” Ohno says with delight, already jumping up from his seat and heading for the shelf.

***

Ohno and Nino meet everyday now, and if Ohno has gone from considering Nino to be his friend, to considering him to be his very best friend, he has an excuse.

Today Nino has produced the top hat from his full morning dress and is wearing the dapper thing skewed to one side with rapscallion appeal.

“Good sir,” he says, in his most affected tone. “If you would be so kind as to inspect the contents and integrity of this bag and by doing so assure yourself of its emptiness.”

Ohno glances inside the cloth sack that Nino has thrust in his direction. “Nothing.”

Nino frowns at him, his top hat slipping forward over his creased brow as he whispers shortly, “Turn it inside out.”

Ohno turns the bag inside out. “Nothing,” he says, exactly as before.

“Excellent,” says Nino, his flourish returned. “Now if my lovely assistant will provide me with the egg.”

When Ohno doesn't move, Nino huffs. “You’re the assistant,” he prompts, impatiently.

“I thought I was the audience,” Ohno replies, perplexed.

“You are both the audience and the assistant. Now do you want to see the trick or not? I haven’t got all day, you know.”

“It’s Saturday,” Ohno points out.

Nino waves him off. “This trick is in very high demand.”

Ohno fishes the hard-boiled egg out of his jacket pocket. He’s been holding on to it for Nino since this morning’s breakfast and it has taken most of his will power not to eat it before now. He’s really quite proud of himself for holding out.

“Now we shall place the egg into the bag and say the magic word – _Abracadabra!_. And here it has completely and mysteriously vanished!”

Nino turns the bag inside out again to show that it is indeed eggless.

“Amazing!” Ohno says, mouth gaping.

“A sensational effect, don’t you think?” Nino says, pleased.

“Where is it?” Ohno asks, childishly wide-eyed as he looks from the bag to the floor to the bag and back to Nino.

Nino reaches into Ohno's jacket pocket and pulls out the egg, handing it to the astounded wearer.

“Amazing!” Ohno says again. Then he cracks the egg against Nino’s bed frame and promptly begins to peel and eat it.

“Do you want some?” he says around a mouthful.

Nino wrinkles his nose with disgust. “No, thank you."

While Ohno enjoys his egg, Nino plays idly with the magical bag, popping it inside and out over and over. After a moment, he clears his throat a little self-consciously.

“It’s quite lonely here, without any girls,” he says, apropos to nothing.

It’s a strange statement and Ohno glances at Nino curiously, still munching on his egg. “It’s a boys’ boarding school,” he says.

“I know that! That wasn’t what I meant,” Nino replies hotly. “I meant – well – do you mind it? Not having any girls around? Only – that is, do you like girls?”

Ohno stops chewing. “Pardon?”

“Do you like them?” Nino repeats, more loudly and now he’s looking a little flushed.

"Not particularly," Ohno answers with a shrug. "I have an older sister and she drove me quite mad when I was at home.”

“I see,” Nino says quietly.

He removes his top hat and places it gently on the bed. Then he’s moving closer to Ohno, closer and closer until he’s a breath way.

He brushes his lips against Ohno’s cheek.

Ohno freezes, and it seems that Nino is once again emboldened by the fact that Ohno hasn’t pushed him away. He leans in and presses their mouths together.

“You smell of egg,” he says unsteadily as he moves back and it’s then that Ohno finally reacts, pulling away hastily and putting a hand out to keep Nino from following him.

“Don’t,” he says. “Don’t.”

Nino's eyes widen in horror, and he jumps backwards, knocking his top hat to the floor.

“Sorry I – I don’t know why I did that,” he stutters, his face paling in panicked dismay. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me, I – “

Ohno doesn’t say anything, doesn’t know what to say. He reaches up to touch his lips, staring at Nino in speechless bewilderment.

Nino shoots up from his seat, moving over to his desk. “I – I’ve just remembered I have my geography revisions tomorrow morning. I should be studying. All those African nations – they’re quite a lot to keep straight.”

Ohno stands to leave. He feels dizzy on his feet. Somehow, he makes it to the door. Somehow, he opens it.

Even as he closes it behind him, Nino does not look up from his desk.

*

Ohno doesn’t remember any of the journey from Nino’s room to his own. Once he arrives, he rips through his desk for a clean sheet of writing paper and a pen. He sits down on the floor and rests the paper in front of him.

 _Mama_ – he writes in childish hiragana. _Something terrible has happened._

_I think I’m in love._

***

“Ohno!”

Ohno is on his way back to his house after morning lessons when the shout of his name startles him. He turns to see Nino, with one hand holding his cap in place, as he dashes across the campus towards him. He’s frozen in place as Nino approaches, and skids to a stop in front of him, a little breathless.

Ohno’s heart stutters in his chest. It’s been a week since he’s seen Nino, since Nino kissed him, and he looks as terrible as Ohno feels, has felt all week.

Ohno knows that he should walk away, but he can’t.

Nino reaches out as if he’s going to grab Ohno’s wrist, but stops himself, pulling back.

“Ohno, please,” he says instead, beseechingly. “I want to – let me apologize to you. You’ve been avoiding me, I know, but it hasn’t given me the chance – so please.”

Ohno can’t look at Nino, but he stays where he is and Nino seems to take this as enough acquiescence for him to continue.

“I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry. I acted a complete fool. I should leave well enough alone I know but –“ He stops and covers his face with a hand for a moment before dropping it to continue. “But it seems I just can’t quite manage without you anymore. I wanted to see if we could put the whole blasted thing behind us and continue our friendship. I promise not to do anything so stupid again.”

When he’s finished speaking, Ohno glances up to find him smiling shyly, hopefully.

“We can’t,” Ohno says. “We shouldn’t.”

Nino’s smile shatters instantly. “We shouldn’t?” he repeats, in a small voice.

Ohno looks to the ground again, feeling sick to his stomach. “Don’t you – don’t you realize this will make things so much worse? If they found out – Things are already so bad for you – “

“But there’s nothing to find out, is there?” asks Nino, unsurely. “If we’re only friends, as we have been?”

Ohno shakes his head, each word he tries to speak sticking in his throat so that all he can manage is another weak, “We can’t.”

“I don’t understand,” Nino says, brow furrowing. “But I don’t mind. I don't mind what they do to me – if I have you.”

“You can’t mean that,” says Ohno.

“I do mean it, very much,” Nino answers immediately. He takes a step closer, only to trip backwards again as Ohno recoils from him.

He clears his throat awkwardly, then tries again. “And besides you said so yourself, do you remember? You said that it gets better.”

Ohno clenches his hands together at his sides, squeezes his eyes shut tight to resist the urge to look up and see the expression on Nino’s face – an expression he’s sure he doesn't want to see, that he’s sure will break his heart and his resolve.

“But it could get so much worse first,” he whispers.

“So even a friendship is out of the question?” Nino asks, shakily.

Ohno gives in then, looking up to see Nino’s face. He wishes he hadn’t.

“I see,” Nino says, taking Ohno's answer to his question from the silence that follows it. He looks as if he might cry, his eyes suspiciously wet, but he holds himself together for now. “Then I’m sorry to have bothered you. I – I wish you the best of luck in your future pursuits.”

He holds out his hand cordially and when Ohno doesn’t take it, he bows instead, flustered. He turns to walk away.

Ohno watches him go.

***

Ohno is not one to pay much attention to any of the commotion going on around campus. Although there are strict rules against noise levels after hours and curfews to keep the boys indoors, often these are only followed in the loosest sense.

Ohno has already retired to his room for the night when he hears the stirrings of something about to erupt. There’s the sound of running in the hall downstairs, doors slamming open and closed.

He doesn't care. He's about to disregard it, block it out completely, when there are suddenly thunderous feet pounding past his door. Then someone is shouting, “It’s that Japanese one! They’ve got him outside!”

Ohno is up from his bed and swinging open the door to his room in moments.

He finds them out on the lawn, a few feet from the entrance of the house, close enough that the light from the open doorway illuminates the proceedings. Even from a distance, Ohno can tell that this is not a friendly meeting. There’s Nino, uniform rumpled and hands held up to shield his face. Four boys are looming over him, one on each side, leaving him no escape route.

There’s a crowd forming now, boys tumbling out of the front door, slipping and sliding through the snow that’s piled up since this morning to watch what they’re sure is going to be a good show. Ohno pushes his way through them roughly.

There isn't much Ohno can do. He's barely any taller than Nino, still a head shorter than most of the boys here, and he’s certainly not big enough to fend off four of them at once. But he does have one advantage.

When he gets to the four boys in the front, he doesn’t hesitate. He swings back and smashes the croquet mallet into the side of the closest boy’s knee.

The boy howls, stumbling backwards and Ohno uses the break in rank to his advantage, shooting forward to grab Nino by the arm to pull him behind his back, shielding him from view.

The remaining three boys lurch towards him threateningly. “Move,” one of them growls. “We have no business with you. We were speaking with your friend.”

"No," says Ohno, coldly. He lifts the mallet up, brandishing it in the way he’s seen Nino’s baseball heroes hold their bats. "You move."

"Oh-chan, don't," Nino mumbles, and a hand clutches into the back of Ohno’s jacket, fingers shaking.

Ohno ignores him. There’s blood in the snow at his feet, at Nino’s feet, and Ohno can feel his own blood turn to fire under his skin from the sight of it.

"I am older to you. I’m senior," he shouts, his English splitting into shards as his anger gets the better of him. He’s losing words faster than he can think to keep them. "You listen.”

“ _Listen?_ You can’t even speak English properly and you’re pulling bloody rank on us – “

The boy’s sentence ends in a scream when Ohno brings the mallet down on the top of his shoe.

“He’s completely bloody mad!” the boy wails, grabbing his foot in agony.

The entire crowd has taken a step back now as Ohno lifts his mallet again. “VOUS FERIEZ MIEUX D'ÉCOUTER OU VOUS ALLEZ AVOIR DE SÉRIEUX PROBLÈMES!”

The crowd goes silent.

Ohno glances over his shoulder to where Nino is looking at him in complete disbelief. "Come on," Ohno says in Japanese. “Let’s go.”

He takes Nino by the elbow, tugging him forward as boys tumble, terrified, out of the way to let them pass. No one tries to stop them.

They’re halfway to Nino’s house when Nino seems to find his voice again. “I thought you borrowed?” he says breathlessly gesturing to Ohno’s mallet. There’s blood on his face still, dripping down his chin, but he’s laughing.

“I do,” Ohno says. “But sometimes I forget to return it.”

*

Back in Nino’s room, Ohno takes a handkerchief from his pocket and helps to wipe the blood from Nino’s face. It’s only when he’s nearly finished that he notices the handkerchief he’s used is Nino’s – the one he’d lent to Ohno to carry his damaged card in. Nino will be annoyed when he realizes, but for now there’s no chance of that. Nino doesn't notice, doesn’t protest, remains docile in his stunned silence as Ohno carefully tends to his injuries.

“It will be worse in the morning,” Ohno says knowingly, when all the blood is gone. “But it isn’t as terrible as I thought. I’ll stop to check on you before chapel and – “

"Stay,” says Nino, jolting out of his stupor and clutching desperately at Ohno’s arm. When Ohno looks surprised he adds bashfully, “I don’t like the thought of you going back there.”

“They won’t do anything to me,” Ohno assures him. “I’m a senior. They can’t.”

"Just stay," Nino repeats, not letting go. "Stay so that – Oh-chan, how can I thank you?”

“Let's go to bed,” Ohno says, shaking his head. "You need to rest."

He lies down on Nino's small mattress and motions for Nino to do the same. Nino hesitates before settling beside him, then doesn’t hesitate at all as he curls his entire body against Ohno’s, tangling their arms and legs, tucking his head under Ohno’s chin.

It’s hot and suffocating, and the smell of lavender is overwhelming. It’s almost too much for Ohno, and he’s about to pull away when he feels it – the wetness of Nino’s tears against his skin, and his heart stops all together.

He doesn’t pull away. Instead, he pulls Nino closer, even closer, and they fall asleep.

***

In the morning, Ohno wakes to find Nino still in the bed beside him, propped up on one elbow and staring at him intently.

“I’ve fancied you since the day we met,” he says quite boldly almost the moment Ohno’s eyelids flutter open. “Did you know it all the time?”

Ohno blinks at him sleepily, then shakes his head.

Nino grimaces. He sits up in the bed and tucks his legs in to his chest, chin resting on his knees. “Are you terribly mad that I kissed you?”

Ohno shakes his head again, heart starting that uneasy pounding he’s grown used to now, whenever Nino is near. “No,” he answers.

“I thought that you were,” Nino says quietly. “You didn’t look very pleased when it happened. And after our conversation on the lawn, I’d have thought that you would never speak to me again.” He pauses, and there’s a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But then you appeared last night, as if out of nowhere, raging through the snow with that mallet swinging!”

“What were you doing there? In front of my house?” Ohno asks.

“Going to see you of course.” Nino hugs his legs more tightly to his chest. “And, well, if you must know, I was delivering a letter I’d written you.”

“A letter?” Ohno asks curiously, thinking of his own unsent letter sitting at the bottom of his desk drawer.

“Yes, a letter. I suppose, after all this, you might as well read it.”

Nino unfurls himself, leaning over the side of the mattress to grab his jacket. There’s still some blood on the disheveled collar, but he ignores it, reaching into the inside pocket and pulling out a slightly crumbled, but neatly folded piece of paper.

“There.” He hands it to Ohno, and the tips of his ears have turned noticeably red in color. "Go ahead."

The paper has no address. Ohno unfolds it to reveal a full page of Nino’s small, neat Japanese script.

He stares at it in silence for a long time.

Finally, Nino clearly cannot take the suspense any longer. “Well?” he prompts, as anxious as he is annoyed. “Have you read it?”

“I can’t,” says Ohno.

Nino looks as if he might strike him and Ohno realizes his mistaken choice of words.  
He quickly corrects himself. “I meant that I can’t read Japanese. Not well. Not – what is this kanji here?”

“ _You can’t read Japanese?_ ” Nino snatches the letter from Ohno’s hand, practically wailing with aggravation. “Are you sure that you’re a Japanese at all? I’m beginning to suspect that you’re nothing but a mad Frenchman embroiled in some elaborate joke at my expense. Fine, I’ll read it to you then – but only because I spent such a very long time on the writing of it that it would a terrible waste otherwise."

He begins to read.

 

_ "Ohno-san –   _

_If I might begin this correspondence by addressing you for the first time, most intimately, but with the most absolute and truest respect, by your good Christian name_ __–_ Satoshi – _

_ Satoshi. _

_ How do I, how can I, begin to tell you the things that I so wish to confess to you? Perhaps it’s best to say it plainly, especially to you of all people who seem to find your best understanding in simplicity, and so I will, I must say it outright  –  _

_ Satoshi. I do believe that I am quite madly in love with you. _

_ Of course, I offer this confession knowing very well that you may already suspect my feelings for you, and recognizing with an even more acute awareness that you do not, or in fact cannot, reciprocate them.  _

_Still, for some unknown reason, I feel compelled to more firmly tell you what you most surely will have guessed._ "

 

Nino stops reading for a moment. His entire face is glowing crimson, but he shows no other sign of embarrassment as he says, “It goes on for quite a bit, but if you really want to know how I feel about the colour of your eyes or your abominable sportsmanship, then you’ll have to sound it out for yourself. I’ll just skip forward for now.”

 

_ "In closing, I will reiterate my sentiments by quoting the following, which I believe your so admired Ms. Austen could only say best –  _

_ ‘I come here with no expectations, only to profess, now that I am at liberty to do so, that my heart is and always will be yours.’ _

_ Always yours,  _

_ Kazunari Ninomiya" _

 

Nino puts the paper down on the mattress between them. “There you have it.”

It’s silent for a moment. Then Ohno picks up the paper and moves it gently to the side so that there is nothing between them. “I’d like to hear the part about my eyes.”

Nino’s mouth curls softly at one side. “I’ll have it translated into French, shall I?”

“Yes please,” Ohno says.

Nino smiles drops. He looks tired now, and young, and completely desolate. His bottom lip is swollen still and there’s a bruise forming across his cheekbone.

Ohno leans across the distance between them and kisses him.

Nino jerks back in surprise, eyes wide. For a moment, he looks like he might swoon. Then he picks up the closest pillow and smacks it violently against Ohno’s head. “What are you playing at, you cad?!”

Ohno doesn’t answer, just kisses Nino again and this time Nino doesn’t pull away.

When they finally break apart, Nino’s lip is more swollen than ever but he doesn’t seem to mind it.

“Well?” he says in a way that must be meant to be accusatory, only he looks far too dreamy-eyed to entirely convey it.

“I wrote a letter too,” Ohno replies. “To my mama.”

Nino blinks with heavy-lidded confusion. “You wrote a letter to your mama?”

“I haven’t sent it to her yet,” Ohno explains. “I don’t often send them. But I told her about you.”

“Oh-chan," Nino sighs. "I’m afraid I find myself once again confused by what you take for granted as normal behavior when it is quite the opposite.”

Ohno grins as he continues. “I told her that I think that I’ve fallen in love too.”

“O-oh?” Nino stutters, appearing again to be torn between elation and faintness.

“Yes,” Ohno says quite seriously.

Nino scowls. “Then why have you – ?” he starts with annoyance, before he suddenly softens. “Your afraid of what the others might do?” he says, in answer to his own question.

Ohno nods.

Nino reaches out to roughly brush his fingers through Ohno’s hair. He sighs again, this time with ill-disguised fondness. “Can’t you see, you daft man? You’ll be the only reason I’ll get through it. Any of it. Whatever they do. So whether or not it worsens, you can’t leave me.”

Ohno tilts his head into Nino’s hand, timidly, trying not to but unable to resist.

“Besides,” Nino says resolutely. “I doubt that anyone will dare to come near me after your chivalrous display last night.”

“I’m not so sure – “ Ohno says, though he already feels more sure than before, more sure than not when he says it. Once again, he has been pulled – quite easily – into Nino’s orbit.

Nino only laughs. “Then I’ll be sure enough for both of us. So kiss me and tell me you love me and we’ll be done with it.”

Ohno obliges. One simply cannot argue with that.

******

  
TWO YEARS LATER:   


The train is two minutes ahead of schedule when it pulls into the Cambridge station, but Ohno is already waiting.

Nino is the first passenger to step on to the platform. For a moment, he just stands there, looking flushed and eager – although he's tried his best to hide it under the brim of his cap. He’s wearing his best summer suit, the collar a little loose and tie a little crooked, but otherwise neatly put together from head to toe. He looks quite grown up all of the sudden, and while Ohno had meant to move forward to greet him, he finds himself too struck by the image of this dandy – once a Sixth Former – to move anywhere at all.

Fortunately, the sight of Ohno seems to have the opposite effect for Nino. On locating him, Nino at once begins to push through the packed station as politely as he can be bothered to. When he arrives in front of Ohno, he reaches out to clutch his hand, painfully tight.

“Oh-chan,” he says, warmly. “Have you missed me terribly?”

*

A Saturday at Cambridge is not so different than the Saturdays they always used to spend together, only there are some changes to their activities that Nino could be more pleased about.

“Are you seasick yet?” Ohno asks, a few minutes after they’ve pushed off of the dock.

Nino gives an ambivalent moan from where he is lying at the bottom of the boat, his cap resting over his eyes to block out the warm afternoon sunlight. “Almost. Row more smoothly, will you? What a ghastly idea. Why you thought this would be romantic, I’ll never know.”

“It is romantic,” Ohno says. Nino is back in his short trousers again and Ohno nudges his bare leg lightly with the toe of his boating shoe as he continues to row steadily across the lake. “And it was the only thing I could think of since you won’t let me take you to high tea.”

“Certainly not! Not with the way you insist on eating the clotted cream with a spoon as if it’s _ice_ cream!” Nino says, the half of his mouth still visible underneath his cap quirking in distaste.

“You think it’s charming,” Ohno says. He reaches up to adjust his boater hat with a smug smile. “Or you wouldn’t make sure to order it for me.”

“Poppycock!” says Nino, cheerfully. “Anyway, I’m already on to you. This is all a terribly transparent attempt to weaken my defenses so you can later take advantage of me.”

“What defenses?” Ohno asks cheerfully.

Nino smacks his hand blindly through the air, where it connects with the side of Ohno’s leg. He leaves it there. “I’ve got brilliant news, you know, and you’ll never get to hear it if you keep this up,” he says petulantly.

Ohno wiggles his leg and the boat sways a little with him. He feels Nino grab onto him more firmly to stop his movement.

“Tell me,” Ohno says.

With his free hand, Nino reaches up to remove the cap from his face. He gives a triumphant smile. “I’ve got into Oxford!”

“Congratulations!” Ohno says warmly. He stops rowing long enough to reach out and squeeze Nino’s hand where it’s still resting against his leg.

“Thank you,” Nino says proudly. “I hope that you know this means we shall be most glorious rivals!”

Ohno starts to row again, smirking a little. “Hmm, a pity we don't play the same sport.”

“Perhaps I’ll take up croquet,” Nino muses, his expression turned mischievous. “I think I might just beat you poncy Tabs there. I’ve had an excellent teacher you know.”

“He was excellent, wasn’t he?” Ohno agrees with a grin.

Nino sits up, dusting off his knit slipover. “No matter,” he says haughtily. “I’ll say it now so if you would be so kind as to mark my words. But by the end of it, I’ll have both universities converted to the true sport of champions.”

He drops his gloating tone and perks up boyishly. “Had I told you? I’ve even got some of our good old cricketers playing baseball with me now.”

“You told me,” says Ohno, barely able to keep the adoration from his voice as Nino leans eagerly in to his response. “I’m sure they’ll do anything to please their team captain.”

“Quite,” Nino preens.

They fall silent. As the boat continues across the lake, Nino blinks up at the sun distastefully, fidgets and yawns, even trails a dubious finger through the water, before turning back to Ohno with a very readable, very understandable expression.

“Oh-chan, I think I’m suddenly feeling quite weak,” he says, seeming far from weak as he curls his fingers around Ohno’s wrist to stop his rowing, eyes suddenly seductively dark. “Perhaps you should take me back to your room and read to me from whatever text you insufferable French scholars are revising this term.”

“ _Le Parc de Mansfield_?” Ohno asks brightly, his oars skidding across the top of the water as he leans in close.

“Whatever you like,” says Nino. He pulls Ohno’s boating hat off his head and places it to the side of them, blocking them from the view of the rest of the lake. “Only you’d better turn this boat around quickly or I’ll not be responsible for kissing you right here in the middle of this awful, godforsaken lake.”

Ohno doesn’t bother to reply. Nino is already leaning in to kiss him anyway.

 


End file.
